Of cakes and flowers and things ginger

Sometimes memories from childhood erupting into your present can be very comforting. This week was one when we all needed some tender loving care.

On my way to work this morning, I called into our local bakery. In the 6 years we have lived in this small town, it is only the second time I have been there. But I'd forgotten to pack a lunch, so was looking for a cheap sandwich to buy. Huddled in the corner of the cabinet was a freshly baked Battenburg cake. I bought that too and took it to my office to share. This was the kind of cake my grandma served at Sunday tea time.

At lunchtime, I came across a photo which I put on the desktop screen of my computer. It was of a cluster of snowdrops growing in the undergrowth of a tall tree. These were the flowers which grew in my great aunts garden, down by the stream.

Later a friend dropped by with two beautiful calla lilies. It was a sympathetic gift, knowing I was hurting over the death of two people in the earthquake. Exactly seven years ago, I carried a small posy of calla lilies on my wedding day.

This evening as I weeded to a frenzy a wild patch in our garden, I saw a flash of ginger in the bushes; the kitten chasing moths, just like the ginger cat of my childhood. Dancing at dusk with the fairies of the night.

And so to dream, to lie down and remember the days long ago of high tea and posies and whiskers a twitching.